


Brontide

by pressedinthepages



Series: Brontide [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Love Confessions, Oral Sex, POV Female Character, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:35:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24245866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pressedinthepages/pseuds/pressedinthepages
Summary: A storm is raging, Jaskier and Reader confess their feelings for one another and have an exciting night
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Reader
Series: Brontide [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1764607
Comments: 18
Kudos: 96





	Brontide

**Author's Note:**

> so once again, this ran away with me. this wasn’t a prompt, just an idea from my brain. enjoy!

The sudden crack of thunder shoots you back to reality. It’s late, and you’re huddled up in a tavern in the middle of nowhere. Geralt has long since retired to bed, but both you and Jaskier are still lingering among the empty tables and abandoned tankards. You know that Geralt trusts the bard to take care of himself, but you just can’t bring yourself to leave him after one too many incidents involving a scorned spouse and a very sharp blade. So, you’ve resigned yourself to keeping guard from a dark corner with a little window, listening to the most ancient song of rain nourishing the earth.  
You’ve been alone for at least an hour, the barkeep shoving the last dawdling drunk out of the doors and bolting the doors behind him. He gave you both a kind smile and retreated to his own dwelling above the tavern, leaving you alone with the bard.  
Jaskier has been strumming quietly across the room, apparently working on a new composition. Every now and then you’ll hear him mutter a curse under his breath and scribble on his parchment, but otherwise he’s not said a word since the last patron left. You’re thankful for this, for even though the bard’s voice is one that rivals that of a most holy angel, you sometimes long to just listen to him play his lute. The sounds are made ever sweeter by the music of the rain and the all-encompassing scent accompanying it, something earthy and old, older than time itself. You rest your head against the windowsill, drifting into daydreams about roaring waves, wood creaking under long, calloused fingers, wet rivulets of rain dripping down collars, and blue eyes that snatch your breath without care of you needing it back.  
Alas, you were not allowed long to lose yourself in this dream, the thunder cracking and rumbling across the sky, echoing through the little tavern and sending your mind darting back to your body in an electric jolt. Jaskier notices you start, and moves to gather his journal, tucking it and his lute into his case.. Slinging it across his back in a well-rehearsed move, he moves towards your table where your heart is still beating a bit quicker than normal.  
“You know, you don’t have to stay down here with me,” the bard says with a small smile. “I can take care of myself.”  
“Well, while Geralt may let you roam into any royal pantry you please, I’d like to make sure you keep your head attached to your shoulders,” you quip back, earning a small chuckle in return. You tuck these little moments away, when you both can allow yourselves the luxury of laughter and peace instead of the relentless march of death and misery and heroics that Geralt follows. You’d never admit it, but you’ve found that the only thing that keeps you remotely sane these days is the lively man in front of you, surprising you at every turn.  
What always surprises you most is how freely he gives his affections. Every kind person that he meets gets his light touches, his honeyed words, and his smile that could make even the most crotchety Witcher’s lips turn up at the edges. You’ve gotten all of this, but you’re so hungry for more. You’ve had a taste of his allure, and you’re addicted. He is your weakness, and you are terrified of him ever finding out. He could have just about any person on the Continent, why would he ever give you more than what he already gives so easily.  
Jaskier holds out a hand, which you accept, rising to your feet. Your foot catches on the edge of the table though, and you tumble forward. Jaskier gracefully catches your fall, his hands steady around your waist and your hands latching onto his doublet and you never want to let him go. You’re close enough to be sharing the same breath, and Jaskier whispers your name with a reverence usually only employed for prayers to the gods.  
“Are you alright?” His voice has shifted, rumbling through you like the thunder, untamed and powerful. You bring your eyes to his, intent on answering that you’re absolutely fine, thank you very much. But when your gazes lock, it is like all of the world is holding its breath, with only the rain pattering on the windows to signal that the continuation of time. Jaskier’s hands around you tighten, and you settle into them, regaining your footing but not stepping away. Your hands slowly move up his shoulders, catching on the little threads and seams. When your fingers ghost onto his exposed collar, you feel rather than hear his breath hitch and he gently pulls your body tighter to his. You’re both moving as if pulled by a siren song, one that you’ve never heard or sang but know the words to nonetheless. Jaskier rests his forehead against yours, tenderly brushing his nose with yours. Your eyes flutter closed, not believing what they’re seeing as though your dream from earlier never actually ended.  
“May I kiss you?” you hear him whisper, and you can almost feel his lips move against yours as he says it. You smile to yourself, moving ever so slightly to tilt your head up to meet him.  
“I would be quite disappointed if you didn’t,” you murmur, and before you can take another breath his lips have captured yours for just a moment, still hesitant and careful. He pulls back, worried that he’s pushed too far, but your lips chase and meet his once more. It’s as if all of the stars in the sky have aligned as you melt into his embrace. Your fingers thread into his hair, earning a sound born of pure sin deep in the bard’s chest. You suckle on his lip, licking into his mouth as he grants you further access. He tastes of sage and citrus, painting pure sunshine in the torrential downpour on the other side of the doors. A groan is pulled from your chest, a question and a promise in the sound.  
You pull back from each other, still holding fast and sharing the same space. One of Jaskier’s hands cups your face, his thumb brushing your cheekbone as you catch your breath.  
“Jaskier,” his name spilling from your mouth like pebbles along the bottom of a rushing river, “stay with me tonight.”  
His mouth turns up into a smile, one filled with more hope and pleasure than you’ve ever had the good fortune of witnessing. He gently grasps your hands, leading you backwards to the little room you’re taking refuge from the storm in.  
You tumble across the threshold, lips never parting, Jaskier’s foot kicking the door closed as he pushes you further into the room. You feel the bed at the back of your legs, and you push your hands under his open doublet, sliding it off of his shoulders. The garment hits the floor, and with his hands freed, Jaskier grasps the sides of your face, pulling back only enough to get air. You move your hands to his, grateful for any piece of him you can grasp.  
“I am afraid I am a fool, love,” he says, gently lacing his fingers through your hair, releasing it from its simple tie at the back of your head. Your hair flutters down like letting out a breath you hadn’t known you’d been holding, and you peer at Jaskier hoping that he’ll elaborate without you prompting. Ever predictable, he continues, his whispers warming your cheeks with every word. Less predictable, however, are the words he says.  
“I feel as though I’ve loved you since the moment you entered my life,” he murmurs. “You filled a hole in my life that I didn’t know was empty, and I am terrified of finding it hollow once more.”  
You feel your eyes start to glisten, holding Jaskier impossibly tight. You gather every bit of courage that you carry, and say, barely louder than a whisper, “Then I too am a fool, for I have been trying to win your heart not knowing that it was already mine.”  
You bring your mouth back to his, rekindling the heat with your confession. Your hands travel back to his chest, the fabric of his chemise soft and worn with time. You pull the hem of the shirt from where it is tucked in and Jaskier lifts his arms, breaking your kiss only for the time it takes for the shirt to join the doublet on the ground. His arms wrap around your waist, lips meeting yours once more, firm and persistent. Your nails scratch lightly through the hair on his chest as his fingers move to the laces at the front of your blouse. You notice he’s quite good at multi-tasking, unlacing your shirt while also kicking off his boots, making you a little jealous since it feels like you wouldn’t be able to form two coherent thoughts while in his arms.  
Jaskier’s hands push your blouse down your arms, his mouth moving to any newly exposed skin, kissing and suckling every place he can reach. His hands, calloused and rough from years of music and travel, leave goosebumps in their wake as they travel to your back, intent on unlacing your corset. Your hands travel down, down his chest to his waist, finding him warm and wanting. You palm him through his light trousers, and you feel his fingers lose their place, lost to his own pleasure. He regains himself quickly though and practically tears the damned thing off of you, discarding it with the rest of your clothing.  
His hands find purchase on your hips and he pushes you backwards, forcing you to sit on the edge of the bed. Jaskier moves to his knees, pulling your boots off and chucking them dramatically over his shoulder. You chuckle lightly, pushing back a stray piece of hair from his forehead, cradling his face in your palm. He sighs and leans into your touch, content with this moment of tenderness amidst the desire.  
“This is how I feel every time you grace me with your smile or your laugh, sweeter than any song I could ever dream of writing, drawn to my knees to worship you without a second thought,” Jaskier utters, running his hands up your thighs. Your eyes prickle at the honesty, the overwhelming joy of caring and being cared for in return. Your hands find his and you stand, leaving him kneeling before you. You bring his hands to the laces on your trousers, with an unspoken request. Jaskier sits up, leaving hot kisses along your stomach while he deftly unties the laces. He hooks his fingers into the waist of the pants and pulls them, along with your smallclothes, to the floor, where you carefully step out of them. He moves to stand, hands sliding up your legs and under your chemise. You’re not sure you’ve ever been touched quite like this before, as if he is feeling skin for the first and last time. Your skin is kissed by the cool air in the room as it is exposed, Jaskier standing to his full height and lifting the undershirt over your head. It soon joins everything else on the floor, and you are finally blissfully bare before him.  
He hums appreciatively before taking your hands in his and takes a few steps back, resting his weight against the wall behind him. He plants a lingering kiss to your fingertips before lowering them to his trousers. Your hands tremble, not something born of anxiety, but of impatience. We should really wear fewer layers you think to yourself as you untangle the knot that secures the band of his pants. Your hands slide along his hips, and you move them downward, bringing the trousers and underclothes with you. You wind up kneeling with one knee on the floor, and you help Jaskier step out of the clothes. You lift your gaze, and are met with the most beautiful view you’ve ever seen. His cock is standing proud, flushed and straining with arousal. You flick your eyes back to his, silently asking permission. He lets out a trembling breath and nods, never breaking your gaze. You settle between his legs, gently running your nails up his legs, scratching the hairs and feeling the muscles that twitch beneath your touch.  
You let out a hum and wrap your hand around the base of his cock, feeling the passion and power and heat. Jaskier’s head is thrown back against the wall with a thunk, gasping out a string of disjointed syllables. His name falls from your lips, and you lean forward, trailing the flat of your tongue from your hand up his length, circling the tip before pulling him into your mouth. He still tastes of sage and citrus, but there’s something else, something distinctly Jaskier, and it’s intoxicating. You moan around him, pulling him in further and his knees buckle, his fingers threading through your hair and settling at the crown of your head. You move slowly, sliding your lips up and down, giving little twists of your wrist around the base of him. His breath is short and ragged, a gale of wind carrying leaves and flowers and promises. Your free hand glides up to his chest and back down his leg and back up again, this time roving to his backside and giving a little squeeze. His cock twitches in your mouth and you taste the salt of his arousal, just barely pearling at his tip. You suck in your cheeks and release him, the pop echoing in the little room. Your hand still works itself along the length of his cock, twisting at the end, then suddenly Jaskier stutters out your name. You release him, sitting back on your heels and looking up at him, quirking an eyebrow.  
He is so beautiful like this, chest heaving and flushed, hair pointing every direction, putty beneath your fingers. He’s fucked out on the feeling of you, and you can’t help the little swell of pride that washed through you. Jaskier holds out a hand, just as he did earlier in the evening, and you rest your hand in his. He pulls you up lightly, kissing you until you see stars, his arousal still pressed between your bodies. “Fuck,” he exhales, pulling back to regain some sort of composure. After a heartbeat, his eyes open, glinting with more than a little mischief. He leans down so that his mouth is at your ear, and he whispers, “go lay on the bed, love.”  
You pull out of his grip, lingering at his hands, gently pulling him with you towards the bed. You lay back, sinking down into the pillows’ soft embrace. Jaskier climbs after you, settling himself so he is straddling over you. He settles back onto his heels, looming over you. He reminds you of old tales of the gods walking among humans, and in this moment, you can believe them all. He reaches to you, his hand snaking to the back of your neck to pull you into a searing kiss. His other hand moves to your breast, kneading the soft flesh until you arch further into him with a gasp. The hand behind your head pulls you to the side, exposing your neck for his attention. He leaves little kisses along your jaw as he moves, finding a spot just under your ear that makes you whine with the barest touch. He deepens the kiss there, sucking a mark into the sensitive skin. Both of his hands are on your breasts now, and it is all you can do to run your hands along whatever skin of his you can find. Jaskier pushes you back so that you are laying once more, and he takes each of the raised peaks of your breasts in his mouth before moving to settle between your thighs.  
“May I?” He asks, and you gulp, nodding feverishly. You’re sure that even if you had tried to answer with words, they wouldn’t have made any sense with how mindless in arousal you are. He pushes your knees up and apart, laying on his stomach so that he is level with your sex. Jaskier’s hands run up your legs, meeting at the apex of your thighs, and he spreads his thumbs to meet at your center. He parts you, fully invested in his inquiry into your pleasure. His tongue runs along the length of your cunt, suckling at the bundle of nerves at the top. Every nerve feels like it’s on fire, every muscle seizes, everything outside of this little room ceases to exist. Your hands fly to his hair, hips rocking like a ship in a storm against his mouth, your head falling back against the pillows, eyes screwed shut. Jaskier drinks you like a man who has never known water, or ale, or apple juice, and now never wants to know. He swirls his tongue around your clit, humming at the taste of your pleasure. Words are tumbling from your mouth like the rain against the windows, constant and indistinguishable noises of gratitude, prayer, and pleas for more, more.  
Jaskier shifts so that he has one arm draped across your hips, holding you down, and with his other hand he thrusts two fingers inside of you, intent on learning you as well as he’s learned his instruments, for he’s sure that you would make the most beautiful music. As he withdraws them only to thrust them back in and again and again, you lift your head to look down at him only to find his piercing blue eyes already on you. Your hands tighten in the priceless silk of his hair, causing him to suckle, thrust, and moan against you all at the same time, and the relentless storm is suddenly inside of the room. Every color you’ve ever seen flashes behind your eyes, there is a dull roar of thunder in your ears, and every wall you’ve ever built in yourself cracks and shatters under his watchful eye. In that moment, there is everything, and nothing.  
Jaskier brings you back to yourself, his attentions never wavering. He coaxes you back down and kisses the inside of your thigh as he climbs to hover over you once more. You pull him down, tasting yourself on his mouth, dragging a gravelly moan from your chest at the feel of his cock, still warm and weighty and wanting against your stomach. You hook your legs up and around his hips, trying to pull him ever closer to you. His forehead rests against yours as he looks down, lining himself at your entrance. Jaskier brings his eyes back to you as he pushes forward, slowly sheathing himself in one smooth motion. He stills, letting you adjust to him. You feel so wonderfully full, and you gently clench yourself around him. His head falls to your shoulder, his lips against your neck.  
“Fuck,” he grits, his voice marbles on cobblestone, “do that again.”  
You squeeze once more, and Jaskier only growls, low and long. He pushes himself up to rest on his hands before he moves his hips, pulling almost fully out of you. You whine at the loss of touch, only for the sound to puncture itself as he drives so impossibly deep within you. You dig your fingernails into his shoulders, grasping for some semblance of reality in this world of bliss. He sets a steady pace, but it is too soon not nearly enough. One of your hands falls to knead your breast, looking for any friction to bring you further. With a deep, guttural sound, Jaskier loops his arm under your waist and shifts his weight so that he pulls you so you’re sitting in his lap.  
He fucks up into you, hard, spearing up into you, finding the spot within you that makes you feel like you could devastate planets from existence. The sound that spills from you is a mix between a gasp and a prayer, trying so desperately to hold onto something anything in this moment. You feel Jaskier everywhere, every angle inside of you, every touch, every kiss, every huff of breath along your skin. Outside, lightning strikes to ground and your own lightning flies up your spine, a strangled cry falling from your lips as your storm washes away the rest of the world. Your cunt clenches Jaskier like a vice, and his teeth sink into your neck as his pleasure overtakes him. You’re oversensitive, but you gently rock against him, coaxing every last moment of euphoria from him.  
As he comes back to himself, you stroke your hand along his face and pull him into a kiss, still passionate but now sated. Jaskier pulls himself out of you and you feel his spend trail down your thigh. He lays you back down onto the bed and stands, moving to the little dresser to retrieve a small damp cloth. When he returns, he leans in for another kiss, gently moving the cloth along your body to get you clean. He throws the cloth over his shoulder with the same ridiculous bravado as earlier when he finishes and climbs back into the bed, pulling you to lay against his side with your head against his chest. You feel his thumb brush along your arm, and as you rest a hand on his chest, you find comfort in the sound of his heart, strong and steady, lulling you to sleep. 

*Geralt loves the sound of rain, but Gods does he wish it was a little bit louder so he didn’t have to hear everything from the next room over.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading :) you can find me on tumblr @thefishmongersdaughterwrites


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